HERE lies Erotion, whom at six years old <br />Fate pilfered. Stranger (when I too am cold, <br />Who shall succeed me in my rural field), <br />To this small spirit annual honours yield! <br />Bright be thy hearth, hale be thy babes, I crave <br />And this, in thy green farm, the only grave.<br /><br />Robert Louis Stevenson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/epitaphium-erotii/
